Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 20306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 102(@200wpm)___ 81(@250wpm)___ 68(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 102(@200wpm)___ 81(@250wpm)___ 68(@300wpm)
“You’re done for the day, Tristian. Don’t need to ride back with me unless you really want to,” the old man says. “And I don’t think you do. You moved into Evergreen Valley proper, didn’t you?”
I nod. I’d been here a few months, but I haven’t made it much around the town. Mostly laying low when I’m not working. I’m in no rush to build up a big profile again, especially not with how I left the city in the first place. “All right, see you on Monday, then, boss.”
“Take care of yourself,” Mr. Bell says, giving me a firm paternalistic pat on the back as he passes.
I head out of the garage and stretch, wondering what to do with the freedom for the rest of the day. It’s a hard decision, really.
It’s not too long after that pondering flexing that I spot her.
She’s over there. Watching me, her hand resting on a dog’s head, petting him passively.
Goddamn, she’s gorgeous. Long brown hair curled at the ends, wearing a flannel shirt with enough buttons undone that I can see her bra straps. Denim short shorts, leading to her long, luscious legs that I could run my hands up and down, for days. They curve up to the rest of her body so enticingly, leading me back to her cute freckled face, and how she’s staring at me with wonder, those big brown eyes drinking me in as much as I am with her.
She suddenly breaks eye contact. There’s a tinge of anxiety about her, but I can tell when a woman is staring longingly at me. We all get a little nervous around people we find attractive.
It’s no reason to ignore what’s obviously there.
So that’s why I head right over to her. Break the ice. Confirm that the vibes that I’m feeling aren’t just me reading cues that aren’t present.
I expect the dog to intercept me, but instead it cocks its head in curiosity. Guess I don't have to worry about it being overly defensive like I’ve seen with some dogs.
“Hello, there,” I say, approaching her. I take a look around the Moore homestead. “Nice place you got here.”
“Hi,” she says, her voice meek.
“Saw you from over there and thought I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I left without learning your name.” Overly dramatic of me, but hey, everyone loves a little drama, especially chicks.
“Uh-huh,” she says, her eyes shifting. “Is that line how you learn the name of every girl you’re interested in?”
“Nah, I don’t think I’ve used it before. You’re the first. You’re special.”
She shakes her head with a smile, her ice quickly thawing. “I’m Serena. And you? Are you going to let me live on without learning your name?”
“Tristian,” I say. “Serena is very pretty.”
“My mother certainly thought so. Kinda glad she won that one. My dad wanted to name all his kids after birds.”
I cock an eyebrow, gears in my brain moving. “Like Hawk?”
“Yeah. Like Hawk, my brother. I was almost named Robin. Which is a boy’s name.”
“Robin is a girl’s name too.”
“No, it isn’t.” She crosses her arms.
“It’s gender neutral.”
“But Batman’s sidekick is a boy.”
“That’s because it’s his superhero name. Batman’s legal name isn’t Batman. And he’s had girl Robins, too, for that matter.”
She rolls her eyes. “Robin Williams is a guy.”
“I assure you I had a few girl classmates named Robin, growing up. It’s very much a girl’s name too.”
We stare at one another, the absurdity of the moment catching up with us. We didn’t even know one another five minutes ago, and now we're deep in an inane conversation about names, like we’ve been close friends for years.
It’s a vibe I love to have with a girl. It lets you know that you’re in tune with them and that you’re going to go far.
“I’ll believe you. For now,” she says, giving me a playful stink eye. “You and your supposed female Robins.”
“Why would I lie about such things? And lie to someone so gorgeous too?”
She turns a beautiful shade of red. “Oh, yes, no one ever lies to the pretty girls. People are always completely honest with me and never make things up.”
“I mean, yeah, sure. But that’s usually by claiming I’m a billionaire. Or an astronaut. Or a billionaire astronaut. Not that I think a particular name you almost had is gender neutral.”
The dog walks up and looks up at me earnestly, its tail wagging joyfully.
“Can I pet him?” I ask, looking down at the friendly canine.
“Hmm? Yes, sure,” she affirms. “Although, I’m surprised he’s so friendly with you. He’s usually ruthlessly defensive of me and growls until he’s sure they won’t hurt me.”
I kneel down to the dog, who comes up and licks my face as I give him a few strokes on his back. “What’s his name? So we can steer our conversation to dog names instead?”